


What if I Don’t Want Heaven

by starhyuk (ziontea)



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Artist AU, Childhood Abuse, Depression, Friends With Benefits, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mysophobia, OCD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Destructive Tendencies, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, adding tags as I go, hyungwon centric, i hope there's a happy ending, its suicide tbh im sorry, platonic hyungwon/kihyun, please make sure to read all the tags carefully, slight mention of cutting, slight minhyuk/kihyun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziontea/pseuds/starhyuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe losing a piece of himself was the only way to get over the pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9395](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9395/gifts).



> Please read the tags for trigger warnings!!

Hyungwon sighed, resting his head lightly on the canvas. He shouldn’t have woken up next to that naked body _again_. He shouldn’t have seen small purple bruises littered around his wrist and over his body, when he went to the bathroom to wash up. He shouldn’t have gazed at the sleeping individual still in bed, walking over to the body and tucking him under the covers. 

And he definitely shouldn’t have painted the contours of the flawless man’s backside onto his canvas, detailing every line with scrutinized strokes.

The worst thing was, when he got back to his room, Hoseok, was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to write an artist AU because those always seem fun to me and I recently read some angst that really hit home so I guess this is going to be angsty welp...
> 
> I'm literally writing this in my free time so I don't know how often it will be updated, but I will try for at least once every two weeks!
> 
> Also side-note, Hyungwon does refer to Wonho as Hoseok (as in Shin Hoseok) at this point of time in the prologue, so no not a different Hoseok, still Wonho lol.
> 
> Come ask questions on my [tumblr](http://vmintl.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

_2 months earlier_

 

Hyungwon groaned in pain from the hangover, although there was a slight smile present in his face as he remembered the course of events that had passed the night before.

 

He had gone to the bar with Kihyun and Minhyuk to celebrate his first commission. It was a small painting, that of the buyer’s dog, but it meant that his choice of becoming an artist wouldn’t go to waste as his parents had claimed.

He had already had 2 beers, thankfully Kihyun was acting as the designated driver, so that he could enjoy his night. He could see out of the corner of his eye as the already drunk Minhyuk flirted with men on the dance floor whilst Kihyun watched with a hard look; Hyungwon chuckled, their relationship was definitely out of the ordinary.

 

A glass slammed on the spot next to him, and as Hyungwon jumped, a very, _very_ attractive man slid into the seat next to him. He couldn’t help but notice the tight button up the man was wearing, clinging to his body in all the right places showing off his taut muscles underneath.

 

The man smirked, he seemed to know the effect he had on Hyungwon, and his eyes lingered over Hyungwon’s face, pausing at Hyungwon’s full lips and taking in a deep breath as his eyes widened with desire.

 

“I’m Shin Hoseok.” The man said, his deep voice caressing Hyungwon’s ears. “But you can call me Wonho.”

 

“H- Hyungwon,” Hyungwon stuttered out, nodding towards himself. He didn’t like the way this man made him feel; already having such an effect on him in the first five minutes of their meeting. He quickly wiped his sweaty marked up hands on his pants, slightly hiding the more covered one behind his backside because who would find his charcoal marked hands attractive?

 

He rose his glass and said, “it was nice meeting you Wonho,” before quickly getting up to go find the now missing Kihyun before he said anything stupid to this godlike being.

 

“Wait,” Wonho grabbed Hyungwon’s arm, pulling him closer to himself. Hyungwon would be lying if he said the dark lust present in Wonho’s eyes didn’t make the bottom of his stomach curl with desire. “Where are you going so fast jagi? We haven’t even properly talked.” Wonho sat Hyungwon back into the stool next to him, scooting his own stool closer, so that he wouldn’t have to yell over the dancing crowd.

 

Hyungwon gulped, he was not used to being social, he wasn’t used to being this close to people he didn’t know. Being locked up in his room to find some sort of artistic inspiration did wonders to his now lacking social life, where the once social butterfly would now do anything to sleep and paint for hours _alone_. He occasionally wondered what would have happened if he had kept in touch with his past friends; Minkyun definitely wouldn’t have wanted to see him as this pathetic socially awkward artist who was having difficulty making ends meet, but Minkyun wasn’t here anymore, so who was Hyungwon to reflect on past memories?

 

But somehow, the two of them begin talking, with Wonho asking Hyungwon questions, never letting the younger ask him about his own life.

 

Wonho motioned towards Hyungwon’s marked hands, “So you’re an artist huh. What did your parents say about it?”

 

“Yeah I’m a painter, but my friend's parents yelled me when I decided it, they thought I wouldn’t become successful as a painter.” Hyungwon’s eyes widened soon after he responded to Wonho’s question. “Ya, why aren’t you telling me about yourself huh, who are you to ask me about my personal life.”

 

Wonho just lets the question slide, pressing Hyungwon for more answers, asking him about his education, his friends, his lifestyle, anything really; enticing him with more drinks whenever he refused to answer anymore questions.

 

It goes on and on like this, with Wonho pressing for answers and buying Hyungwon drinks continuously; and after a certain point, Hyungwon was too far gone to deny Wonho any answers. Wonho seemed to have noticed how much Hyungwon had drunk when Hyungwon begins to stumble over his words, varying his pitch and speaking gibberish and puts his hand on Hyungwon’s, his face a little too close to the younger’s causing Hyungwon’s breath to hitch.

 

Wonho leans over to Hyungwon’s ear, throatily whispering “I hope we can become a little more than friends jagi. I’ve put my number into your phone for you so that we can talk whenever you are sober.” He swiftly pecks Hyungwon’s cheek who watches wide-eyed as Wonho leaves the bar.

 

Hyungwon stands up, teetering off the bar chair, he’s gone far past his limit, in fact it’s a miracle he hasn’t blacked out yet. “I’m ready for a big looong nap,” He loudly proclaims at the large crowd without hesitation, stumbling towards the general area where he saw Kihyun last, hoping he wouldn’t pass out before finding him.

 

He thinks he sees a blond mop of hair pinning a smaller body onto the wall, and hobbles over to the couple. Squinting, he sees the two making out, and when he stumbles slightly closer, he can make out Kihyun’s smaller frame being pinned to the wall.

 

He crashes into the couple, mumbling apologies for breaking their steamy moment, before he passes out on top of the fallen Minhyuk.

 

The next morning, he wakes up on a couch, probably Kihyun’s, with a raging headache. Seeing the now awake Hyungwon, Kihyun caustiously approaches the younger with some water and medicine, placing them in Hyungwon’s hands.

 

“Want to tell me what happened last night that made you drink so much?” Kihyun softly asks, not wanting to make the younger shut off like he had so many times before.

 

Hyungwon smiles softly at the memory of the previous night’s events. It’s surprising he even remembers what happened, but he won’t complain, not at the thought of the godlike being who spoke to him yesterday. “No, just felt like celebrating my commission I guess.” Hyungwon tells Kihyun, before moaning again at his pounding head.

 

Kihyun sighs, “Alright, just let me know if you need anything okay?” Hyungwon nods in affirmation, watching Kihyun as he ruffles Hyungwon’s hair before he leaves.

 

He takes out his phone and smiles at his charcoal covered hands as he sees the newest contact in the device: _Wonho._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little more of a fluffy beginning than I thought welp 
> 
> Come ask questions on my [tumblr](http://vmintl.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I said I would try to update every other week but life man. 
> 
> In other words, writer's block sucks ass.

It had been exactly 53 hours, 38 minutes and 19 seconds since Hyungwon had last slept.

 

He knew because he was keeping track on his phone. It was something his therapist had him do; something that could maybe “motivate him to lay down and sleep.”

 

As he watched the seconds tick by, he itched the urge to get up and clean that small, black speck on the wall. He weighed the possibilities: if he did, he would have to wash his hands, and he couldn’t stand the idea of touching anything unfamiliarly dirty; but if he didn’t, he would be living in the pigsty that the speck was causing.

 

He knew it was irrational, it’s why he was on half the drugs he was prescribed to; his attitude towards dirty things was unusual, bordering on fanatic even, for he couldn’t stand any form of dirt on him or any of his belongings, he could barely stand to touch other people, though he did when wearing gloves.

 

Eventually, Hyungwon chose to leave the speck as it was, the thought of not going through the action nearly wrecking his already fragile state of mind, but it was the sudden mental lethargy that stopped him from getting up and scrubbing the walls.

 

He knew why he couldn’t sleep; he had known for years. It was why he went to the therapist and why he was drugged up more than half of the time he was in public.

 

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Otherwise known in a simpler fashion as OCD.

 

Or rather, the compulsive disorder that was in relation to his mysophobia. The thought of closing his eyes and surrendering his body up to the falling particles in the air was frightening. How could he when he might contract a disease and potentially offer himself as a candidate for death. How could he when more traumatic things had happened to him, exposed to his dirty surroundings.

 

It was a wonder that he was a painter; how did he manage to dirty himself with paint, yet cry at the exposure of his body to the potentially deadly dust in the air? It astounded the many therapists he had seen up until this point, but he knew that without painting—without art—Hyungwon would not have lived to his present age.

 

He twisted his hands, gripping the still raw, bloody skin from when he washed them a little over two hours ago. He didn’t understand where his gloves had gone on the night of the celebration; he was sure he had them on when they had entered the bar, but when he awoke they were not there.

 

Kihyun knew better than to touch them, he had known for years the extent of Hyungwon’s condition. Hell, he had known Hyungwon before his phobia and eventual OCD had even developed.

 

Was it the stranger he met at the bar? No, he faintly recalled his flirty drunken self hiding his charcoal covered hands, a problem he would not have had, had he been wearing his gloves.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! What did I do? What did I touch? Shit. I fucked up, I fucked up big-” The thoughts raced across Hyungwon’s mind; he couldn’t help but grow even more anxious every second he spent dwelling on the possible consequences of not wearing his gloves in the potentially toxic outdoors.

 

Hyungwon knew that the last thing he should do was to scour his brain for any memories from that night; however, he couldn’t help it.

 

He _had_ to know, because if he had done something— _touched something_ —toxic, he would need to take drastic actions against himself, against the world, against the fucking goddamn universe.

 

He manically thought, trying to recall all of his memories of what had transpired that night.

 

All the shitty, dirty happenings of the celebration, when he abruptly stilled, his heart pausing momentarily and his mind suddenly blaring sirens and flashing red lights.  

 

_No, no, no._

 

Hyungwon clutched his glass of water, gripping it tightly, when he heard water and glass falling to the ground. Shocked, he looked at the mess his bloody hand made, and realized that he did not give a _single fuck_ about how painful it was.

 

Because physical pain was good, right? It reduced the mental pain, the _torture_ his mind made him go through day in and day out.

 

And honestly? It was quite fucking relieving to know that he could feel something physically.

 

That he was, in fact, alive and not living some sort of twisted dream. That he wasn’t dead, at least not yet, for if there were any sort of inclination by his actions, Hyungwon did not have much time left; not with his self destructive tendencies or mood swings, not with any of the single fucks he did not give.

 

Oddly though, he didn’t make any motion to clean it up; something which a more conscious Hyungwon would be doing almost immediately in order to rid the room of his dirty blood and broken glass.

 

The messy floor was something of unimportance in comparison to the memory Hyungwon finally recalled. It wasn’t of the moment he lost his gloves, oh no.

 

No, it was something small, yet far worse. Hyungwon began feeling light headed, breathing short, inconsistent breaths as his bloody hands started to feel clammy and his heart beat erratically fast.

 

With the onset of another panic attack, Hyungwon remembered.

 

He remembered walking past a dark alleyway on the way to the bar with Kihyun and Minhyuk. An alley so dark, he couldn’t see anything past the streetlight, yet he could faintly hear crying and screaming, and _oh god were those cries for help_?

 

At the time, he believed the event to be a hallucination as he was drunk, but _now_ he could tell it was real, that he had in fact heard a girl pleading for somebody to help while some man, or _men_ , potentially raped and/or murdered her.

 

And that event, in itself, had triggered something far worse within Hyungwon.

 

Something that he would have rather had locked up in the dark recesses of his tortured mind.

 

Something which had brought about the mental pain that Hyungwon had been living with for the past 13 years.

 

Something which had, in fact, been the very cause of his mental disorders: of the mysophobia, the OCD, the _insomnia_ , and the fucking social anxiety.

 

And that something was the suicide of his mother.

 

It wasn’t just his mother’s suicide that triggered the start of his panic attack. It was the physical abuse that his father had dealt to his mom; the mental abuse he received from someone he should have been able to look up to for the entirety of his life.

 

It was the way his father would make Hyungwon clean up the mess that the abuse had caused.

 

The way he was forced to wipe up the blood and throw away the pieces of shattered plates and _ignore the pained sobs of his mother._

The _cries_ of the woman who loved him no matter how shitty of a son he was. And he couldn’t believe he didn’t help her because he was _too fucking scared_ of the man who helped conceive him.

 

He was scared that one day the mental abuse he dealt with wasn’t going to be enough. That his sperm donor would begin to slap him, kick him, _rape him_ , like he did his mother, and he was frightened for his life for the day when that finally happened.

 

He remembered how the abuse went on for years until his mother broke.

 

He remembered how he had come home from the bullies at school, already beaten black and blue; cautious, yet happy that his father wasn’t home yet.

 

He remembered how he yelled for his for his mom and was met with unusual, frightening silence.

 

He remembered running to her bathroom and screaming because how was it possible for a person to bleed _so much_ from such a _small wound_.

 

He remembered shaking her cold body from where it was laying next to the toilet seat, yelling at her because she _couldn’t be dead_ , there was _no way_ such a small wound would cause such great damage.

 

He remembered shakingly calling his father because his father would _kill him_ if he called 911.

He knew his father wanted his mother dead; it wasn’t a hidden fact that he despised his mother. Their marriage was in fact, the product of a one-night stand, a pregnancy, and morally upstanding Catholic parents, and Hyungwon’s father loathed the woman for taking away his reputation and future.

 

And he remembered his father forcing him to bleach the bathroom under the threat of something far worse than death, to scrub it down until it was disturbingly white and clean.

 

Therapists had said his father’s emotional abuse had led him to develop his ‘conditions’, but he couldn’t fathom how words could have had such a great impact on his psychological state. It wasn’t like he had a father who could hurl emotional abuse at him anymore; he had been beaten and raped consistently before being disowned by his father a mere two years after his mother’s suicide.

 

Luckily, Kihyun’s parents treated him as one of their own, so he had spent most of his teenage years under their love and support, but the damage had been done. Hyungwon respected all the effort Kihyun’s parents made with him, and appreciated the unconditional love that they gave him, but there were some things he could never come back from, no matter how well he was treated afterwards.

 

Shaken by the memories he had believed he had buried deep within the recesses of his mind, Hyungwon lifted his bloodied hand to his face, wiping away the sweat and tears, gasping heavily as his attack slowly ebbed away.

 

He reached towards his nightstand, opening the drawer containing the swiss army knife that laid there for times like these when Hyungwon was just a little too emotionally compromised and psychologically ruined.

 

He fingered the perforated edge of the blade, mimicking the motion he would have to make in order to feel what the shattered glass had made him feel what seemed to be hours ago.

 

He brought the blade to his dried, bloody, raw skin. The skin was whitening and was flaking off, Hyungwon noted to himself to buy more moisturizer so that people wouldn’t suspect his blackening, withering state of mind by the condition of his filthy hands.

 

Hyungwon pressed the blade slightly onto his wrist. Horizontally, he didn’t want to die, at least not yet, not with that commission lying on the easel in the corner.

 

He paused.

 

Thought of the consequences the resulted in putting a knife to his skin.

 

Pressed a little harder, allowing a drop of blood to seep through the small incision.

 

Grinned at the slight sting, the first feeling he had had since his panic attack.

 

Thought some more.

 

Three things popped into his head: three very, very important thoughts.

 

One, he would become like his mother which he did not want. He refused to go in the same manner as her, not today, not ever.

 

Two, he already bloodied his hands and room with broken glass; he already had to clean up the mess his panic attack had created and he couldn’t add to it, he couldn’t bring himself to add to the already there drops of blood.

 

And three, what would Kihyun say if he saw a scar on Hyungwon’s wrist, a fresh cut that signified suicidal tendencies when he had promised him that he wouldn’t try to die, not anymore. Not anytime soon, at the very least.

 

Feeling bile come up from the sickening stench of blood, grime, sweat, and tears, Hyungwon made up his mind.

 

He lifted his hand, going to the other side of the bed so that he could find the napkins that would wipe away the stained knife.

 

Finding his slippers, he padded to the bathroom where he kept anything and everything that he would need to clean up the result of another episode, and turn his room back to the way it was before.

 

White, pristine, and _pure_.

 

Something which he was not.

 

Something which would provide him with the false sense of security he so desperately needed.

 

Something that he would depend upon until he either got better, or broke to the point of no return.

 

He washed his hands, making sure that there was not a single spot of grime left, not from the glass, not from the blood, not from anything he may have touched since his last hand wash.

 

He then mopped. Threw away the glass. Bleached the floor. Toweled off any excess bleach. Mopped the floor. Used the broom to brush off any tiny excess pieces of glass he may have missed. Mopped with soap. Rinsed with water. Towel dried. Vacuumed. Mopped once again. Toweled again. Mopped and toweled once more just to be safe.

 

And after each step of this tedious process, Hyungwon washed his hands twice and put on a new set of latex gloves, not being able to give up the routine and avoiding another breakdown by making _100% sure_ that everything was neat, clean, and livable once more.

 

After throwing away the towels and mop, Hyungwon showered, trying to cleanse himself of his filthy body, his dark mind, and the dirty stench from the dust in the air.

 

After washing his body twice, Hyungwon put on a fresh set of clothes and walked to his bed, staying clear of the area of blood and glass. Because although it was clean, he had to take the necessary precautions to make sure he wouldn’t be affected.

 

Hyungwon sat on the side of his bed, opening a different drawer in his nightstand in order to take out his medication.

 

Each time he did, he read the prescription on the side of the bottle, lightly smirking with an empty air as he read it:

 

Xanax. 2 3mg tablets. Twice a day.

Anything more than the recommended dose may result in greater side effects, and a possibility for overdose.

Do not take in combination with other antidepressants or anti-anxiety medication.

 

2 tablets was never enough. It would never be enough.

 

On a good day he would take 3, but today was a bad day, and he was just so fucking tired. So he poured out 5 tablets onto his hand, knocking them back, and swallowing them dry.

 

If he ended up overdosing, he ended up overdosing. The world wouldn’t end if he died, in fact he knew it would be a better place if he ended up doing so.

 

Because honestly the only person who would potentially miss him was Kihyun, but Kihyun had Minhyuk so he would obviously get over Hyungwon’s death with time.

 

Slowly, but surely, the effects of the drug began to take place. He could feel his eyes begin to droop, closing shut as he smiled, finally getting what he had wanted for hours.

 

Sleep.

 

Peaceful. Deep. Black. Long-awaited.

 

Sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor baby~ and no, I did not enjoy writing that as much as you did not enjoy reading that, but in some dark, twisted way, Hyungwon's state of mind is perfect for this AU.
> 
> Basically, I hate myself for making my tall pancake sad, but I literally went to sleep one night with this what if? and for some reason, it worked.
> 
> (Hopefully) this is the saddest chapter, but knowing my tendency to angst, it probably won't be, so I'm sorry in advance <3
> 
> Ask questions on my [tumblr](http://9395.co.vu/ask)!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't keep you all waiting too long right //rubs neck and grins apologetically//
> 
> But still over 500 hits and 30+ kudos? Damn, wow, thank you all ♡

Hyungwon awakened under the watchful gaze of somebody. That somebody being Kihyun and that watchful gaze more like an insufferable glare.

 

He could hear the slight sips of tea next to his bed, the slight rustle of paper, probably the manuscript Kihyun’s editor had sent back to him. Softly groaning, Hyungwon slightly opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light coming in from the window, already shirking back from the upcoming lecture he knew he deserved.

 

Pushing past thoughts of how Kihyun managed to get in (he had given him a key), of whether Kihyun remembered to follow up on the routine that Hyungwon made him go through with every visit (asking a friend to wash their hands and put on gloves before entering a flat was normal right?), of why he even felt the need to enter in the first place (okay maybe swallowing a few pills after days of not sleeping gave off the impression of trying to commit); Hyungwon slowly sat up in his bed, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders to get rid of the stiffness in his neck. He reached for his glasses, knocking over his pill bottles making the loudest fucking noise his brain couldn’t handle.

 

Kihyun’s head lolled upwards, the only indication that he gave to show that he was pleased that Hyungwon was, in fact, alive.

 

Sliding back from the approaching Kihyun, Hyungwon grunted out a startled sound as he was grabbed in a hug, his mind blanking before going into a fast panic.

 

“Chill, I followed your procedure,” Kihyun chuckled, stepping back from the one-sided hug to show his clean figure and gloves, before adopting a more serious expression and punching Hyungwon.

 

Lightly, Kihyun could never hurt him, but the action in itself hurt because he never thought that he was stupid enough to worry his hyung.

 

Never mind his doubts of whether Kihyun would get over his death, worrying Kihyun was a big no-no because not only did he hate causing trouble, but he also _despised_ being fussed over.    

 

“You couldn’t have fucking called to tell me what you were going through? You _idiot_ ,” Kihyun hissed, unapologetic about the harsh words uncharacteristic of his normally sunshine-like personality.

 

Hyungwon gulped, opening and closing his mouth speechlessly. Kihyun had never acted like this with him.

 

Never. Not once.

 

Not the time he sliced both his wrists open, from his wrist to the back of his elbow, to feel some semblance of physical, not mental, pain.

 

Not the time he almost jumped off the hospital roof, wanted to get away from those crazy doctors who made him stop feeling anything.

 

Not even the time when he mixed gin and valium, when he remembered his awful childhood. When he had woken up in the ICU three days later with a freshly pumped stomach, a grayish pale Kihyun sleeping next to him. 

 

And the thing was, Hyungwon had taken advantage of it; he knew he had. He never had to worry about Kihyun being angry because he never was. Hyungwon could be the fuck-up everyone knew he was and Kihyun would still maintain that calm façade, the soothing words, and the aura of belief.

 

And for the first time, Hyungwon had truly seen how badly his anxiety had affected everyone surrounding him.

 

He felt dizzy as feelings of another attack broached. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. They weren’t supposed to care. He was supposed to be able to fuck up because he was entitled to. His shitty childhood had at least guaranteed that.

 

 _They weren’t supposed to care_ , not about him, not ever. He was supposed to be given words of encouragement, the _“you can do this, you can get better, you can get past this,”_ not the demeaning _“why the fuck did you mess up, what the fuck did you even do.”_

 

He was lost in his own world, mindlessly looking at anything _but_ Kihyun. He was scared. Not that Kihyun would hit him, of course not. Kihyun didn’t have a violent bone in his body, and for once, Hyungwon was thankful.

 

But he was scared of his best friend who had every right to yell at him. Kihyun had the right to berate Hyungwon because at that moment, he deserved it. He was selfish for wanting to commit, for wanting to feel anything really because he wasn’t _thinking_.

 

He didn’t think about what Kihyun would go through, although he would be the only one who would really mourn him. He didn’t think about the shock his customers would go through at having to find out that their commission would never be completed because a little sadness caused a little death.

 

He wanted to choke in laughter and sob at the same time, wanted to hyperventilate at the situation at hand, at his worsening life.

 

Jarring Hyungwon back to the present, Kihyun seized his left arm, the one filled with the most scars, flipping it over and scrutinizing it for any fresh cuts. Any angry red marks or signs of blood. Any indication that proved Hyungwon had thought about committing once again.

 

Hyunwon’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, he had to say something; he didn’t cut, he came close, but _he didn’t_ and Kihyun had to know that. He had to know that he hadn’t gone that far in a while; that he had just tossed back some pills and went to sleep.

 

“I. I – I –," Hyungwon swallowed. He couldn’t. Why couldn’t he get the words out?

 

It was like some outer force had snatched him of the ability to talk, to breath even.

 

He tried another approach: tried to move his arms to indicate the lack of new physical wounds.

 

He couldn’t lift his arms. They felt glued somehow and internally Hyungwon was screaming, wishing – no, needing – his body to _fucking move_.

 

“Hyu – uh. Hy- hyun um.” He was choking up; he needed water, _something_ , to soothe his dry throat, to enable him to talk to Kihyun.

 

He couldn’t He _couldn’t do this_. Why did he ever think he could?

 

Hyungwon swallowed, moving his tongue to wet his dry lips and feeling over the cracked surface of his skin.

 

Who let him think that he was capable of doing anything to calm his hyung down, to prove that he hadn’t been fully suicidal the night before.

 

That he had just been _not okay_ but had not wished to die.

 

No, he hadn’t wished to die then; however, now was a different story.

 

Kihyun was saying something, but Hyungwon could only see lips moving. The light-headed feeling that had momentarily left was back in full force, yet it had worsened.

 

His eyes slightly lolled back in pain, he wanted it to stop.

 

He was _pathetic_. He needed the dizziness to _stop_.

 

Moreso than pitiful because he was despicable. He didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy because he had brought this - this pain, this misery - onto his disgraceful self.

 

He was _worthless_. A good-for-nothing evil that plagued everyone he touched.

 

It was no wonder his mother committed suicide, he couldn’t even protect her.

 

Isn’t that why his father, no his sperm-donor, loathed him? Because he couldn’t do a single thing right in his sorry existence?

 

_He didn’t deserve to be alive._

 

Hyungwon felt bile rise up his throat, disgusted with himself and confused why Kihyun still cared. It would obviously do him more good if he stayed away from Hyungwon’s pessimism and made friends who were actually worth his time.

 

Kihyun was his best friend, but he was useless and wretched. He didn’t deserve the love of someone who could do so much better than him, someone who deserved every ounce of love and friendship anyone threw his way.

 

Kihyun was still talking, yet Hyungwon could still not hear him. But no matter, for his head was spinning and he needed to throw up because god, he despised himself.

And no, these weren’t just the aftereffects of the previous night. Nor were they the aftereffects of 12 years of abuse. No, these were just the emotions that Hyungwon kept buried for the sake of Kihyun but he was just so _tired_.

 

He stumbled back, knees buckling at the edge of the mattress, and crashed down onto the bed.

 

He whimpered, the pounding in his head ceaselessly throbbing and he was just so tired. No, he didn’t want to die, he was over that troublesome route.

 

But, he didn’t want to exist either. Death would be just the easy way out for a person like him who deserved to be placed in the lowest pits of hell. If there even was a hell.

 

 _Stop_.

 

He needed it to _stop_. It needed to fucking stop, he needed to stop he needed to…

 

He needed to stop existing. That’s what he needed. He needed the pain to quit, he needed to stop being such a _fucking nuisance_ to the people he loved.

 

Hyungwon clenched his hands, nails biting angry welts into his still raw skin. The pain gave him some relief; it was liberating to know that he was still able to feel physical pain. The same physical pain that allowed him to sidetrack from the destruction of his present mental state as he thought about all the trouble his wretched life had brought upon all he cherished.

 

He could be locked up from the world for all he cared, tied up in a fucking straightjacket and labeled a ‘crazy,’ because he was sad and angry and tired and useless and despicable and just a mental nuisance. The world would probably function better with one less criminal in the world, one that had inadvertently killed his mother and, to be fair, he agreed.

 

There was a resounding crack in the room, the force of it snapping Hyungwon’s neck backwards, surely giving him whiplash.

 

He slowly turned his head, palm against bruising cheek, eyes widening at his hyung. His hyung who was now looking at his reddening palm in disbelief with moisture stinging his eyes.

 

Hyungwon, once again, opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a soft broken “why?”

 

Kihyun snapped his neck up in horror and in that very moment, Hyungwon realized that he had spoken his true feelings about his own existence out loud.

 

“Ah hyung. I didn’t mean anything about it. You know how us depressed people get,” Hyungwon airily joked waving his hand back and forth, finally getting some words out of his shell-shocked body.

 

It was, however, this time around Kihyun who was speechless.

 

Hyungwon scoffed internally, mocking himself for not being able to even self-hate in private.

 

“Yu- you hate yourself?” Kihyun, who had fallen to his knees before the bed, looked up at Hyungwon and forcibly swallowed.  “Y-yuh- you neither want to live nor die?”

 

Hyungwon closed his eyes, once again berating himself for the slip-up.

 

 _Stupid. Stupid, stupid_. He couldn’t believe he had done it again. He had fucked up. Hyungwon lowly chuckled, a self-hating jeer because he was a fuck up, so it only made sense that he would consistently mess up the one good thing in his life.

 

The air felt dead, but that could have been the way Hyungwon was beginning to feel, the creeping sense of despair climbing back up his shoulders and resting upon him like another weight to his already burdened existence.

 

He didn’t want to be burdened any longer, he just wanted to be weightless.

 

“I- I didn’t.” Kihyun stopped. Licked his drying lips. Took a deep breath before continuing. “I uh. I duh-didn’t uhm kn-know” Kihyun seemed to force the words out painfully, pausing to scrub at his eyes wanting to rid them of the stinging tears.

 

And he couldn’t believe he didn’t know. Hyungwon was his brother, yet Kihyun himself had failed as his hyung. He should have noticed Hyungwon’s fall back into the downward spiral instead of focusing on his lover. He should have seen how Hyungwon hadn’t been present for the past three days, for god’s mercy he was Hyungwon’s neighbor and his fucking best friend.

 

Kihyun didn’t hate himself, but the disgusted feeling was present because _he should’ve known_.

 

Hyungwon stood up from the bed, Kihyun’s hand that was resting on his lap falling short and hanging mind-air. He knelt, sitting at Kihyun’s level, breathing heavily wishing that for once, he would be able to do something good with his life.

 

Kihyun suddenly moved, clutching onto Hyungwon’s shoulder and pressing him into his arms, clenching his arms around Hyungwon’s thinning frame.

 

Hyungwon sighed, letting out the breath he had been holding for god knows how long and gave into Kihyun’s embrace, letting Kihyun’s tears soak his shirt.

 

He mentally thanked Kihyun for crying for the both of them for, it seemed, Hyungwon had run out of the very tears he relied upon. The tears that would let him release pent up emotion into the world. But his eyes were dry. He was exhausted. And, as his breaths slowly calmed, as Kihyun’s cries slowly ebbed, Hyungwon wanted to maybe stop giving into the pressure.

 

To maybe live again.

 

To leave the apartment, to finish the incomplete commission, to even call up that man from the bar a few nights ago.

 

He knew he had Kihyun’s love and support. His breakdown hadn’t shown anything else but that: Kihyun would never give up on Hyungwon, no matter how much Hyungwon believed he would.

 

Kihyun would never leave Hyungwon behind because they were family and family always stuck together.

 

Kihyun sighed, pulling back from the embrace with a determined expression on his face. He got up, leaving a surprised Hyungwon still kneeling next to the bed, getting handwipes and Hyungwon’s gloves. Kihyun wiped the tears both on his and Hyungwon’s face and took Hyungwon’s hands, helping him wear the gloves.

 

Hyungwon still knelt speechless; he didn’t understand what Kihyun was trying to do.

 

“We, just the two of us, are going on a date. A bro date, don’t look at me like that young man do you know how much you scared me?” Kihyun firmly stated, grabbing Hyungwon’s hand and lifting him up. Hyunwon weakly nodded, understanding that he needed to leave the flat, maybe get a breath of fresh air in order to calm his rattled mind.

 

But the black speck, the one he decided to leave alone yesterday was back. He needed to clean. He needed the space to be pristine, he needed to be able to come back to a pure room.

 

Mumbling, Hyungwon staggered to the closet where he kept his cleaning supplies: the broom, mop, wipes, everything.

 

He changed his gloves, keeping the former pair for when he actually left the flat.

 

Kihyun knew, although he couldn’t quite fathom why Hyungwon wanted to clean an already spotless room, that this was important to Hyungwon. That by refusing Hyungwon the chance to, in a sense, calm down by cleaning he would be denying Hyungwon the ability to heal.

 

So, Kihyun took up the mop, wiping every surface of the floor as Hyungwon dried and dusted, the process in itself lasting almost an hour for one small area.

 

Once they finally finished and Hyungwon had showered twice, Kihyun declared to Hyungwon “You ready for our date night Wonnie?”

 

Hyungwon barked out a laugh, “Hyung it’s only 4:00pm. What do you mean date night? We aren’t even dating and it’s not even night.”

 

Kihyun first grinned at Hyungwon’s first genuine laugh of the day before smacking Hyungwon’s back and muttering out a complaint: “Shut up Hyungwon-ah. Such an incessant child. Always worrying their hyung’s beautiful face out and then what does the hyung get in return? Nothing. Ungrateful brat.”

 

They both went out like this, the friendly banter that characterized their relationship returning back to normal and the strains of the morning temporarily resolved.

 

Their “date” ended up being at the café near their apartment complex, a quaint coffee shop where Hyungwon noticed that the brunette barista at the register was in fact, Wonho.

 

Elbowing Kihyun, who let out a startled “Ow what the fuck!”, Hyungwon frantically pointed at Wonho. The very same Wonho who Hyungwon had met at the bar four days prior.  

 

“Hyung it’s Wonho!” Hyungwon began to pace in front of the café door, pulling Kihyun to the window so he could see properly.

 

“Who now?” Kihyun asked, guessing that he should probably know the name, but with all that had happened in the past few hours, he had forgotten.

 

“Hyung it’s the guy from the bar the really cute and suave guy, ohmygod I used suave in a sentence, fuck me in the ass. Or up the ass. Both the asses. All the asses. Fuck. Shit. Balls. I can’t do this. What do I do hyung help me please I’m freaking out there’s going to be germs in the café and I hate germs BUT HE LOOKS SO CUTE IN THAT APRON. Hyung, what did I ever do to be embarrassed like this god he’s beautiful I want to kiss his neck. I have a really shitty life I don’t need this right now, I need to date him, HYUNG HELP I REALLY LIKE HIM WHATDOI-“ Hyungwon anxiously rambled, yelping when Kihyun’s finger flicked his forehead.

 

“What the hell hyung” Hyungwon whined, rant forgotten as he glared at Kihyun, rubbing his reddening forehead.

 

“You need to calm the fuck down and start again. That’s bar guy and you, the bacteria hater, want him to fuck you? Is that it Wonnie?” Kihyun wore a shit-eating grin on his face because not once in the 20 years has he seen his little Hyungwon so enamoured by a person. Much less a “suave” man from the bar.

 

Hyungwon moaned into his hands in embarrassment, people heading into the café looking at the pair as Kihyun continued.

 

“A few hours ago, Wonnie, you were all: let’s quit this friendship because I’m a little bitch who hates himself.” Kihyun slightly paused for dramatic effect before proceeding in falsetto. “And now, not even 4 hours later: Oh hyung, he’s sooo hot I just want him to put me on a desk and have his way with me. Hyung, whatever shall I do?!” Kihyun stopped, his hand pressed to his forehead in a mocking manner as Hyungwon groaned in defeat, regretting his decision to ever become childhood friends with Kihyun.

 

He mentally reprimanded his 4-year-old self because he did not deserve such slander to his name, especially not by the person who was now his former best friend. Hyungwon grumbled out a “I hate you hyung,” and, as Kihyun snickered, he stepped straight into the café towards his impending death by cute.

 

Somehow, Hyungwon managed to not stutter out his order of “a medium Americano, no sugar and a raspberry marble cake for me, and an icy cold judgmental Carmel Macchiato for the idiot next to me,” to which Kihyun let out an indignant “Hey!” and Wonho chuckled out a deep “okay.”

 

And, as Hyungwon paid for his order, he _swooned_ because Wonho’s voice wasn’t this deep that night in the bar and it was beautiful.

 

As his name was called out and a different barista handed him the drinks and pastry, Hyungwon noticed what was unmistakably Wonho’s handwriting on his cup.  

 

Where the words “Caution this beverage is hot” lay was Wonho’s obvious attempt at a pick up line, one used by almost every barista Hyungwon had seen yet. Wonho had crossed out the “this beverage” and had put a “you are ;)” instead, below written a short message: “call me dumbass I know you have my number.”

 

Hyungwon squeaked as he looked at his cup, almost running into the table and spilling the coffee onto a glowering Kihyun.

 

He hadn’t imagined that Wonho, the charming man from the bar, the adorable barista from the café would be into him. Yes, he fantasized about going on a date with him, but he never believed that a man so great would be able to like someone with as many issues as he had.

 

He sat down mechanically, mind racing in a panic as Kihyun paused drinking his coffee, recognizing the signs of what seemed to be Hyungwon despising himself yet again.

 

Kihyun gently set his drink down, pressing his fingers onto Hyungwon’s shaking hands, taking them in his own.

 

“You know there’s no reason for him to not like you right Wonnie-ah?” Kihyun stroked his thumb against Hyungwon’s palm, whispering words of encouragement. “Look at you? You are strong. You’re artistic. You’re funny, occasionally, ow okay all the time geez _that_ _hurt_. You’re passionate and dedicated and empathetic and beautiful Wonnie, who wouldn’t like you? And those issues you speak of? They make up you, so don’t you dare say that you can’t be yourself with him. And if he breaks your heart, I’ll murder his sorry ass.” Kihyun fiercely says, taking bits of the cake and feeding it to Hyungwon, trying to calm him down and allow for his hyperventilating breaths to slow.

 

“Hyung, he just. He seems to like me and I don’t want to mess this up. He wants me to fucking call him hyung. He still remembers me from 4 nights ago and I just. Shit, he’s looking hyung what do I do? Do I call him, do I text him? What the fuck do I do?” Hyungwon rambled on, his eyes widening as he painfully smiled back at the attractive barista waving at him.

 

“Here’s what you do Wonnie-ah. You wait.” Kihyun continued despite Hyungwon’s protests. “I’m not saying that you shouldn’t text him your number. But wait. Wait for him to set up a date, wait before you fall headfirst in love with him. Because that’s the type of person you are Wonnie, you give your all to someone, and if the relationship doesn’t work out, you blame yourself.”

 

Hyungwon nodded in slow assent, moving to text Wonho his number and his name.

 

He knew Wonho couldn’t text back because he was currently working, but later that night when Kihyun had forced him to watch a teary rom-com with him, his phone had beeped with a message from the barista.

 

 _Hey :) Would you like to hang out sometime this week_?

 

No, it wasn’t a date but it was something. And as he pressed tissues to Kihyun’s snotty face once again, Hyungwon slightly smiled.

 

Maybe his life would take a turn for the better after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost 4k of more angst and slight crack and fluff. Welp. 
> 
> I know its been over 3 months but whoops? I kinda forgot, but then I came up with this and literally wrote it in the past 4 days.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all like it and leave kudos/comments! (I want to see what you think and interact with you all)!
> 
> And as always, hit me up on my [tumblr](http://9395.co.vu) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/pauxpillon)!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked this! Kudos and comments are always appreciated and if you like my style of writing, feel free subscribe to me!! <3
> 
> Also, as always, hmu on [twitter](http://twitter.com/ishqiyaan/)for more!


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